


if you're coming my way

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been Courtney’s idea, that the two of them should take a week together, on neutral ground, and see what might happen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Another "TAI is playing a reunion show and I have feelings about it" story.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you're coming my way

Courtney leaves when the sun gets too low for her to get good shots. “I could do arty shadows,” she says, packing her camera bag, “but you guys want to get drunk and talk about stuff I don’t care about, so I won’t waste my battery.”

“What makes you think we’re going to get drunk?” Bill drags his sunglasses halfway down his nose, looking over the top of the lenses and raising his eyebrow at her.

“I’ve met you?” She rolls her eyes and settles her bag on her shoulder. “Maybe stay out of the pool once you get started, though. I think it ruins their Air B&B rating if you drown in their pool.”

“Who’s the older sibling, here? Isn’t it my job to worry for no reason?”

Courtney blinks at him for a minute, then looks across the pool where Mike is sprawled out in one of the lounge chairs. “Mike, don’t let him in the pool once he hits the booze?”

“On it.” Mike waves one hand at her. “Drive safe, Court.”

“See you guys tomorrow.” She lets herself out the back gate, and Bill watches as it swings closed and silence settles over the yard.

“You gonna get us some tequila or you going to sit there?” Mike turns over onto his stomach, stretching slowly. The play of muscles in his back and shoulders is distracting. Bill misses a beat.

“Earth to Beckett,” Mike says, drumming his hands against the deck. “Tequila. Now.”

“You want it mixed with something or are you just going to drink it straight?”

“Neither one of us can do that anymore, buddy.” Mike pushes himself up on his elbows and turns his head to look at Bill. “Margaritas. Lots of salt. Chop-chop.”

“You’re so bossy. Why do I even like you?”

Mike smiles faintly and lies down again, and Bill bites his tongue as he goes inside. Right. They’re not quite at a place where jokes like that can fly, yet.

They’re getting closer, though. It had been Courtney’s idea, that the two of them should take a week together, on neutral ground, and see what might happen. Bill knows what she was thinking of; drinking, talking about sports, maybe writing a little, like in the old days. He definitely wasn’t going to suggest anything else where she could hear it.

He hadn’t suggested it to Mike, either, and if it’s crossed Mike’s mind independently, he hasn’t given any sign. Which is fine. Completely fine.

Bill takes the limes and tequila out of the shopping bag on the counter. He’s going to focus very hard on these margaritas. They’re going to be fucking amazing.

**

When he goes back outside, Mike is in the pool, swimming a lazy breaststroke. As Bill sets the glasses and pitcher on the table, the deck lights come on, blotting out the shadows and casting sharp blue light over everything.

Mike swims up to the wall and boosts himself up, resting his elbows on the tiles. “Booze me, Beckett.”

“Courtney said no drunk swimming.”

“Courtney isn’t here.” Mike holds his hand out and Bill makes a face at him, but he fills the glasses and goes to the edge of the water.

He sits and dips his feet in, kicking slow arcs through the water while they both drink. “This place is gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“It is. Your sister did good.”

Bill takes a drink and holds it in his mouth for a moment, letting the tequila pool on his tongue. “You want to play later?”

Mike stills for a moment, then drains his glass in a long swallow. “Play what?”

“Guitar.”

“Didn’t bring one.” He sets his glass on the deck and pushes off the wall, picking up a slow backstroke. 

Bill watches him cross the pool and counts his breaths, schooling himself to patience. “Why not?”

“Dunno.” Mike does a flip turn at the far end, vanishing under the water for a moment and coming up into the breaststroke again.

“I brought one.” It’s a cautious offer, made as neutrally as he can. Mike comes to a stop a body’s length from the wall, dropping his feet to the bottom of the pool and pushing his wet hair back from his face.

“You brought yours.” His voice is just as cautious, just as neutral, but there’s a hint of emphasis on _yours_. Or maybe that’s in Bill’s head. It’s impossible to tell for sure, of course, impossible to separate what’s in the voice and what’s in the layers of himself that it passes through as he interprets it.

“We could trade off.”

Mike looks at him for a moment, then walks to the wall, nodding at his glass. “Get me a refill?”

It’s not agreement, but it’s not refusal, either. Bill reminds himself not to push his luck, and takes the glass to the pitcher. “What else do you want to do tonight?”

“I don’t know. Swimming and drinking sound pretty good.” His fingers brush Bill’s as he takes the glass back again. “Maybe see what’s on TV.”

Bill nods, sitting down again and sliding his feet back into the water. “Is that what we’re going to do all day every day? The whole time I’m here?”

Mike looks at him as he drinks, eyes thoughtful. Measuring. He swallows and licks his lips before he answers. “No.”

“Glad to hear it. I’m having a good time, but it’s a lot of a trip for swimming, drinking, and TV.”

Mike smiles, and Bill feels a prickle along his spine; danger, or not-quite-danger. Not physical danger, but the sense that he’s been outwitted. Usually he gets it from Evie.

“This trip was never about having a big heartfelt conversation, Beckett.” Mike drains the glass again. “You know that.”

“Enlighten me, oh wise one. What was it about?”

The silence stretches on for so long it’s excruciating, with Mike standing there _looking_ at him, like the look should say it all itself, like there’s something hovering right between Bill’s eyes that holds the answer and if he just looked, if he moved his eyes just right—

“It was about you coming for me.”

Bill blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You taking a step. Making a compromise, even a little one. To show me that you would.” Mike shrugs. “Or at least that’s how Courtney explained it.”

“I wish she’d given me a heads-up, too, if she’s going to make up reasons for things I’m doing.”

“Ah.” Mike nods and boosts himself up onto the edge of the pool, water streaming off his body to the deck. “So not so much, then.”

“Not intentionally.”

“Forget I said anything.” He takes a towel from the table and wraps it around his waist. “Is there more tequila inside?”

“Of course there is. We bought a giant bottle of it.”

“Good.” He takes the pitcher and vanishes through the door, leaving Bill sitting in the pool light, perplexed and alone.

**

The second pitcher of margaritas, the one Mike mixes, is extremely strong. Extremely. Bill isn’t sure what he did to deserve this.

He spreads his arms and legs and lies starfished on the floor, staring up at the mirrored ceiling that the proprietors of this establishment deemed appropriate for their living room.

“Do you think they have sex parties in here?” he asks.

Mike is lying on the couch, methodically eating his way through a lime, wedge by wedge. Bill can’t imagine the horror. “Probably.”

“So wild.” He watches himself blink. “Remember sex parties?”

“We never had sex parties.”

“They were going on _near_ us. We could hear them.”

“I do remember that part, yeah.” Mike laughs out loud and drops the lime peels to the floor. “Sisky got invited before we did.”

“I don’t think he was invited, I think he just showed up.” Bill closes his eyes. “Man, we lived a weird life for a while there.”

“I’m sure you’ve still got plenty of weird going on in yours.” Bill tears his voice apart in his mind, searching for bitterness, but if it’s there, it’s well-hidden.

“What about you?” he asks.

“What about me?”

“Does your life have weirdness? Or sex parties?”

“Definitely not sex parties.” He hears Mike shift and sigh. “There’s always enough weirdness to go around, I guess.”

“Give me an example.”

Mike’s quiet for a moment. “Well, for one thing, I’ve had just about enough tequila that I’m thinking about coming down there and kissing you. That’d be pretty weird.”

Bill lies still, his heart picking up speed in his chest. “Weird in a good way or a bad way?”

“That depends on if you would punch me in the face or not.”

Bill swallows and meets his reflection’s eyes. “I don’t think I would. I mean. Probably not.”

“Then it would probably be weird in a good way.” Mike’s voice is low, barely above a mumble, and Bill wishes he could see his face. Mike never gave away much with his face, but Bill could get _something_. “I guess.”

“Mike…”

“Don’t. Don’t… say anything.” Mike takes a deep breath. “Just give me a minute.”

“I don’t—”

“I said give me a minute.” 

Bill clenches his fists at his sides and starts to sit up. “I just think we should talk about—”

“Oh my god.” Mike slides off the couch, hitting the floor with a solid thud that Bill feels in his bones as it vibrates the hardwood. “Oh my god, you can’t not talk. You literally cannot shut up.”

“Well, this is important!”

“It’s important to _me_ that you just, for once, for one goddamn single solitary time—” Mike crawls across the floor to him and pushes him down to his back, gripping Bill’s shoulders tightly enough to make him gasp. Mike holds him down and for a moment they stare at each other, eyes wide, mouths open.

Then Mike kisses him, just like he said.

It’s clumsy, and it tastes like those fucking limes, and it’s… it’s weird, just like Mike said. It’s very weird. But Bill doesn’t punch him, and yeah, it’s weird in a good way. Mike’s body is really heavy against his, heavy and _solid_ , holding him down less like he’s trapped and more like he’s covered. Protected.

Mike’s grip eases on his shoulders a little bit, enough that it’s not painful, and the kiss gets more tentative, like he’s checking himself. He starts to pull away and Bill shakes his head, reaching to catch him around the ribs and keep him still. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?” Mike’s voice is hoarse. “Because we don’t have to.”

“You got your kiss and now you’re going to leave me high and dry?”

Something flickers in Mike’s eyes, uncertain and young. “Don’t make this a joke, Bill.”

“I’m not.” Bill shakes his head, still holding on, his fingers pressing against Mike’s skin. “I promise.”

Mike watches him for a moment, then nods and leans in to kiss him again. He’s still tentative, still careful, and so Bill tries to keep himself still, so he won’t break the moment and scare him off again. He doesn’t want to chase Mike around all night. He doesn’t want this to stop.

He never wanted _this_ to stop; he never had. It was collateral damage of setting off the nuclear ordinance that was… everything else.

He lets his hands slide down Mike’s back to his hips, guiding Mike against him more firmly from the waist down. Mike groans low in his throat, the sound ending in a choked-off grunt as his dick slides against Bill’s through both their swim trunks, the slick fabric bunching awkwardly between them.

They move like that for what feels like ages, gasping and muttering, damp skin and fabric catching on each other. It’s not quite _good_ , they’re clumsy and not in synch, but they’re here, they’re together, and Mike’s body is heavy and solid on Bill’s own, grounding him in a way he thought was gone.

Mike’s mouth is still close to Bill’s, though they’re not kissing, just breathing, rough and jagged breaths that mingle and blur together as their bodies follow their progression, stomachs tightening, pulses picking up, sweat and chemicals flooding every system. It’s an old dance, but now it’s more of a dance and less of a fight than it’s been between them since… Bill isn’t sure. Maybe the very beginning.

He brings one hand to the back of Mike’s head, guiding him into another kiss, closing the gap between them. Mike makes a low sound, his teeth catching against Bill’s lip. The sharp sting somehow makes it even more right. They can’t ever be _just_ a dance. That wouldn’t be them.

When it’s over he has blood to clean off his mouth as well as come to wash off his stomach, dick, thighs. His own and Mike’s, messy and mixed together. 

The swim trunks get tossed in the shower to rinse and then over the towel rod to dry. “Bachelor life,” Bill says solemnly. “Don’t tell the people who live here.”

“They have a mirror on their living room ceiling. They can’t judge.”

Bill looks at himself in the mirror over the sink. “I look pretty badass with a fat lip, I’ve gotta say.”

Mike laughs, and Bill thinks, _I’ve missed that_ , even though he’s heard it plenty of times since he got to LA. “I bring out the bad in you, huh?”

“You bring out a lot of things.” Bill hesitates, wondering if he should press the metaphor or let it go. 

“Tomorrow you can bring out the guitar,” Mike says.

He means it to be casual, Bill can tell; it’s supposed to be no big deal. So he nods and plays it off the same. “Sure, that sounds cool.”

“If you want.”

“Yeah. I do.” Bill turns to face him, wanting Mike to see that he means it, that this isn’t any kind of a game. “I really do, Mike.”

“Cool,” Mike says, and Bill’s pretty sure he’s _blushing_. That isn’t anything he ever expected to see. “I mean, yeah. Then we’ll do that, then.”

“And I’ll have Court bring more tequila.”

Mike laughs. “You hoping for a repeat of tonight, Beckett? You want to go again? Maybe even in a bed this time?”

“Oh, come on, Mike.” Bill rolls his eyes. “A bed would ruin my chance to watch myself in the mirror again.”

It isn’t perfect; nothing ever is. But it feels really good to be laughing together again.


End file.
